“Striderrrr! Please slow down!  You’re walking too fast! My legs are going to fall off if we keep this up!” Pippin groused. The hobbits were lagging several yards behind him- again.

Aragorn bit back an irritated retort. Ever since they’d left Bree, grumbles about his speed were nearly as commonplace as complaints about hunger. Meanwhile, he’d already checked himself to an infuriatingly slow pace, knowing hobbits to have much shorter legs and himself to be a much faster walker than most humans. It would be impossible to further lessen his cadence without stopping after every other step. Shortening his stride would only quicken his turnover. Have patience, Aragorn. These smallfolk were unused to the grueling demands of the Wild.

“We must make haste if we are to get to Rivendell safely” the Ranger reminded the hobbits.  He managed to slow down ever so slightly so the gap would lessen, though whether it would last he could not guess. It was unnatural for his long legs to move sluggishly. If he proved fortunate, the pace would satisfy the hobbits at last. Hopefully his legs wouldn’t get so used to being slow that they’d be rendered unable to go fast again as needed.